


The Kings and their Jealousies

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [49]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Can they show Sexual Restraint?, Guilty Thranduil, M/M, Wounded Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:21:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the last story, an injured Thorin is stuck in bed, wondering what happened between Thranduil and Ethril.  If he asks for all the sordid details, will it damage their relationship further?  Or is it a good idea to get these things off your chest?  Can be read as a standalone or you can check out the previous story: The Kings and an Old Love.</p>
<p>This one was written because readers just couldn’t believe that Thorin took the news about Ethril’s request for a ‘reward’ so calmly.  No, neither could I, LOL!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and their Jealousies

 

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and their Jealousies

 

Pt I

 

Thorin eased himself carefully up onto his pillow.  It had been some days since his hunting accident and the wound on his inner thigh where he had been slashed by a giant boar was taking its time to heal.  The elven physicians here in Mirkwood had stitched it up neatly but they had warned him not to exert any pressure on it if he didn’t want the deep cut to burst open again.

 

He fidgeted restlessly as he waited for Thranduil to bring up his breakfast on a tray.  There were servants, of course, but the elven king insisted on doing it himself.  Guilt, the dwarf suspected.  Thorin might have died if it hadn’t been for Ethril, the banished elf lord, turning up in the forest and efficiently organising his rescue.  He was surprised that Thranduil’s former courtier hadn’t actually left him to die, deeply jealous as he was of the relationship between the two kings.  But he hadn’t: instead he had saved his life and then asked for a reward.

 

Ah, yes.  The reward.  His demand had been a night in Thranduil’s bed and Thorin still didn’t know if his partner had said yea or nay because he hadn’t wanted to be told the outcome.  But, now, some days since Ethril’s departure, back to his banishment in Rivendell, Thorin was gradually becoming more and more tormented by the thought of what may or may not have happened between the two.  He thought that he had handled it all like a real grown-up - instead of flying off the handle, having a bit of a shout and then punching both of them on the nose.  But, now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

 

He had been heavily sedated at the time and, when the elven king had told him about Ethril’s request, he had responded in a surprisingly calm manner.  On the night that Thranduil had gone off to tell Ethril of his decision, the elf had eventually returned quietly to bed at some point and Thorin had awoken briefly – but he had been totally unclear as to whether that had been one hour or eight hours later.  He hadn’t wanted to know and the sedatives had completely knocked him out.  And not a word about the matter had passed between them since.

 

Now, he was no longer sedated and his mind was clearer – and angrier.  Ethril should NEVER have asked for this reward – it showed a lack of honour.  Had he learned nothing during his exile?  And Thranduil should NEVER have told him about this – as if he were asking for his permission or as if he wanted Thorin to decide for him.  Yes, Ethril should never have made this request but, since he had, Thranduil should either (preferably) have sent him packing or he should have submitted without letting Thorin know anything about it.  Now, he not only had this wretched, throbbing thigh but his brain was also throbbing with unwanted thoughts.  And the thoughts tormented him more than the physical pain.

 

He had told Thranduil that he didn’t want to know his decision – but now he did.  It was better to know than to wonder endlessly what had happened between the two.  He knew he had to ask.  And so, when Thranduil returned to the room, carefully carrying the breakfast tray, he was ready.

 

The elven king made it easier for him.  He fussed over Thorin, pulling the sheet tight, plumping his pillows and asking him how he felt in a concerned way that was totally out of character.  He wasn’t normally the nurturing sort and the dwarf decided that all this care must be compensation for doing something wrong.

 

“Stop fussing, for Mahal’s sake!” snapped Thorin as the elf buttered his toast and tried to feed it to him.  “I’m not paralysed from the neck down!”

 

Thranduil dropped the toast guiltily back upon the plate.  Thorin pushed the tray to one side.  “I need to ask you something,” he said curtly.  Thranduil looked as though he had just been given the death sentence: he knew what was coming.

 

“I want to know what happened between you and Ethril,” he said bluntly.  He felt ambivalent about the elf lord who had, some years earlier, plotted to break up the relationship  between him and the elven king and had then been sent into exile: he had been so ruthless in his schemes that he had deserved to be banished.  But, at the same time, he felt sorry for him and his obsession and wondered how he would feel himself if he should discover that his deep love for Thranduil was unrequited.  However, after Ethril had saved his life, did he deserve a night in Thranduil’s bed as a reward?  His partner should have discussed it more but he had been sleepy with the sedatives he had been given; and so, the decision had been left to Thranduil.

 

“Did you or didn’t you?” he asked abruptly.

 

Thranduil stood there with his fists clenched by his side and finally said: “Yes, I did.”

 

Thorin didn’t say anything but just glared in disgust at him.   And when he pulled the tray back onto his lap and began to eat his breakfast once more, his lips set in a grim line, the elf said coldly: “I see I’m not wanted here.  I shall go and do some work in the library.”  And he swept out of the room with a swirl of his robes.

 

The food tasted like ashes in Thorin’s mouth and he pushed the tray away with a sigh.  That had achieved nothing: he was feeling even more wretched.  Now he wanted to know exactly what the two had done together – how many hours it had all gone on for, who had done what to whom, and, most importantly, had Thranduil enjoyed it!  He could see this being a never-ending torment.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

A servant came to remove the tray a bit later that morning and then a physician arrived to check out his wound.  He tutted and looked at Thorin suspiciously.  “You’re not doing anything, are you, to put pressure on this wound?  I can speak to Thranduil if it would help.”

 

“No, I’m not,” said Thorin in all honesty.  They were both being very good even though, at this moment, he thought that he desperately needed to fuck the elven king, to put his mark upon him and to claim him as his own.  Not being able to do so only made his imaginings about Ethril even darker.  And he glowered as he thought angrily that his partner had found some release from his frustrations with his courtier whilst he had to suffer alone.

 

When the physician left, he lay back on his pillows and tried to sleep only to be awoken an hour later by a light tapping at the door.   He opened his eyes to find Brangwyn, his heir’s beautiful wife and a good friend, cautiously peeping into the room.  “Can I come in?” she asked.

 

Thorin pulled himself as best he could up upon the pillows.  At last, he thought.  Someone he could talk to.  “What are you doing here?” he smiled.  “You should be at home, in Erebor, with your family.”

 

The dwarf woman sat on the edge of the bed and took hold of his hand.   “Well, I thought I’d just ride over and see how you were.  We’ve all been very worried about you, you know.  But, I must get home by this evening – my son fusses so much without me.”

 

“And your husband too, I bet,” Thorin grinned.  “But,” he added more seriously, “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you.”

 

She bent forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.  “How bad is it?” she asked.  “All we’ve heard is that you were gored by a boar whilst out hunting.”

 

Her king grimaced.  “I’m pretty helpless, lying in this bed, I suppose.  And it does hurt,” he continued, giving her a brave little smile.

 

She laughed and poked him in the shoulder.   “Come off it,” she grinned.  “Stop playing the sympathy card.  I’ve seen you bear pain without a murmur, so you can tell me what this is all about – because it’s more than just your injury, isn’t it?”

 

His face grew still once more.  “Dearest friend,” he said quietly.  “You always guess don’t you?”

 

Brangwyn pressed his hand gently.  “Tell me,” she said.

 

And so he told her all about the hunting trip and the fight with the boar and how Ethril had suddenly appeared in their hour of need.

 

“Ethril!” she gasped indignantly.  It was she who had sorted out all the trouble that Ethril had previously caused.  She had been furious in defence of Thorin when he had been implicated in some sexual wrongdoing and had saved the relationship between the two kings.  “Where on earth did he suddenly spring from?” she asked angrily.

 

“He’s been hiding in the woods and stalking Thranduil,” he sighed.  “Just to get a glimpse of him – luckily for me.  He saved my life, you know.”

 

Brangwyn was somewhat mollified.  “And is he still here?  Has Thranduil lifted his banishment?”

 

“No,” said Thorin carefully.  “He left as soon as he received his reward.”

 

“Oh, that’s nice,” smiled Brangwyn who, like Thorin, had always felt a little sorry for Ethril.  “He really deserves a reward for saving the life of my favourite person.  What did Thranduil give him?”

 

There was another pause, then: “He gave him a night in his bed.”

 

Brangwyn’s jaw dropped.  “He did _what_?!!”

 

“It’s what Ethril demanded.”

 

“How – how – _dishonourable_ of him!” gasped the dwarf woman.

 

“My feelings exactly,” replied Thorin, pleased to have found an ally at last.

 

“And I suppose you punched them both on the nose!  Is that why Thranduil isn’t here?”

 

“Erm, no,” said Thorin.  “Thranduil tried to discuss it with me – to ask me what he should do – but I was sedated and told him I didn’t want to know what he decided……..But, in the end, I just had to ask.  He’s gone off to work in the library because I was a bit short with him this morning.”

 

“Oh, Thorin,”Brangwyn cried sympathetically, leaning forward and pulling him into a gentle hug.  “It’s a horrible situation but I suppose you’ll have to forgive him in the end.  It was a hard decision for him.”

 

And they sat and talked quietly for an hour or so before she said that she really had to go home.

 

.o00o.

 

 Meanwhile, downstairs, Thranduil hadn’t lasted long in the library.  He couldn’t concentrate on anything and his mind kept wandering to that night he had spent with his courtier.  Thorin was being so unfair!  It hadn’t been the dwarven king who had felt obliged to sleep with someone he didn’t love!  Instead, Thorin had stupidly and recklessly tackled that boar when the elf had had it all under control.  And what was the outcome?  A serious wound and an obligation to Ethril because he had saved the dwarf’s life.

 

“Give him whatever he asks for,” Thorin had said.  But, when he had told him what Ethril had wanted, he had soon changed his mind about that, by Eru!

 

“You decide,” the dwarf had said.  “I don’t want to know.”

 

But, when he had made that very difficult decision, not only had Thorin asked what it was, he hadn’t liked what Thranduil had decided.  The cold way in which he had treated him this morning!  He should have lied.  But, after all those rows and arguments and discussions about how there should always be honesty between them, he had been stupid enough to tell the truth.

 

Not all of it, though.

 

He had climaxed – several times.  He hadn’t been able to help himself.  Ethril had just known how to hit the right spot.  And for one vindictive moment, Thranduil felt like telling Thorin, just to give him that moment of pain that he currently felt he deserved.

 

The elven king impatiently chucked the book he was reading across the room.  It was a valuable one but he didn’t care.  He had had enough of all this thinking.  And he was tired of trying to keep his passion for Thorin damped down.  How much longer before he could give him a good screw?!  That’s what they could both do with at the moment.  So, if he couldn’t fuck the dwarf, perhaps he should try to get drunk: a tricky task for an elf – but he had done it once before and now he felt like having another go.  And with a determined look, he marched from the room in the direction of the dining hall.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

In the dining-hall, Thranduil tucked himself away in a secluded booth in the corner of the room.  He ordered one glass and half a dozen bottles of wine from the servant and the servant gave him an odd look.  But he was obliged to do as his king demanded.  As the elf opened the first bottle, Brangwyn was just arriving in Thorin’s bedroom upstairs.  And, as she chatted to the dwarf, he steadily ploughed his way through his six bottles.  And, as he thought of that night with Ethril, he drank more deeply, hoping that the alcohol would blot it from his mind.

 

It hadn’t been ugly or disgusting, of course.  Ethril was beautiful and tender and full of love for his king.  And he had been quite aroused by all the dwarven decorative art that Thranduil had applied to his body for Thorin’s sake: the tattoo, the beading, the piercing at the end of his cock.  And he had played with them curiously for half the night.  “And you say this sort of thing has become quite fashionable in Mirkwood?” he had asked.  Thranduil was amused: he could see the fashion spreading as far as Rivendell now: such differences helped to relieve the boredom of the passing centuries.

 

And that was it, wasn’t it?  The reason why no-one but Thorin would ever do.  The dwarven king was different.  And when Ethril lay upon him with his smooth limbs and kissed him with that smooth face, Thranduil just about managed to fight off his distaste.  For, where was that muscular, hairy chest, those powerful arms, that silken beard and the dark, tangled hair that smelled of hot coals and molten metal?  And Thorin was hung like no other he had ever seen.  And, once you had experienced that, then that was another - very good – reason why no-one else would do.

 

He had thought all these things as Ethril had moaned and thrust into him.  And now that he thought about them again in the dining hall, he began to harden inconveniently and he drained another glass in an effort to depress his irritating desire for the dwarf.  Then he gestured to the servant and asked him for another six bottles.

 

“Are you sure, sir?” said the concerned servant tentatively.

 

“Don’t question me!” snapped the elven king.  And the servant bowed and made his exit from the room, but looking all around the hall at the same time to see if there were anyone there who might help.

 

But there was no-one trustworthy that he could see and, with a ruffled brow, he made his way toward the cellar.

 

By this time, Brangwyn had parted with Thorin and was descending the staircase, and there her path crossed with that of the servant.  He gave a sigh of relief when he saw her.  She might be a dwarf but she would one day be Queen of Erebor and she was a close friend of his king, if all accounts were true.

 

“Lady,” he said politely, approaching her, “I would very much appreciate your help.”

 

She smiled at him warmly and he felt that he could talk to her.

 

“It’s my lord Thranduil,” he continued.  “He has drunk six bottles of wine and has sent me for six more.  For some reason, he seems to be trying to get drunk and I am – umm -  concerned.”

 

Brangwyn mentally rolled her eyes.  This must be all about Ethril.

 

“Is he drunk yet?” Brangwyn asked.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” was the response.  “It’s very difficult for an elf to get drunk.”

 

She patted him on the shoulder.  “Good work,” she said.  “You did well to tell me.”

 

.o00o.

 

But the servant was wrong.  Thranduil was, in fact, very drunk: he just wasn’t showing it.

 

“Have you come to interfere as usual?” Thranduil snarled when Brangwyn appeared at the edge of the booth.  He had found a half empty bottle on a neighbouring table and was consuming it whilst he waited for the servant’s return.

 

“You could say that,” responded Brangwyn calmly as she sat down opposite him.  Then: “Is this all about Ethril?”

 

“No,” snapped Thranduil.  “It’s all about Thorin.”

 

“Yes, he’s behaved a bit badly,” said the dwarf woman sympathetically, “I must admit.”

 

The elven king knocked back another half glass.  “Well, I’m glad we’re all agreed on that,” he muttered.  “That was a hard night for me and Thorin hasn’t made it any easier.”

 

“Ethril’s request was a dishonourable one and you responded as honourably as you could,” she soothed.

 

“Yes, it was and, yes, I did,” said the elf indignantly.  “And Thorin showed no appreciation of what I went through, just for him.  You should have seen the look he gave me!  And with that stupid wound, I can’t even fuck him to prove a point.”  And he downed the rest of the glass.

 

“You need to talk this through with him,” she said gently.  “I think he’s ready for that.”

 

“Oh, is he?  That’s good to know,” responded Thranduil with a slightly sarcastic inflexion.  “I shall go and see him at once.”

 

Brangwyn gave him a slightly hard look.  But, then she arose from the table and placed a swift peck on his cheek.  “I have to set out for Erebor before it gets dark,” she said.  “Be kind to him because he loves you very much.  And that’s what this is all about.”

 

After she had gone, Thranduil swiftly drained the rest of the bottle and then made his way up to his apartment.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Thorin felt very tired.  A servant had brought him a bowl of hot water and he had managed to slip off his nightshirt and have a bit of a wash – no baths permitted yet.  Now he was sitting up in bed reading a few letters that Brangwyn had brought him from Erebor.  They were very boring and he wished that Thranduil would come back so that they could sort out this thing that lay between them.

 

Suddenly his wish was granted as the outer door banged and, moments later, the elven king swanned into the room looking his regular, arrogant self.  “What are they?” he asked, nodding at the pile of documents on the bed.  “Letters from your lover?”

 

This was such an uncalled-for remark that Thorin was startled.  He slowly rolled up the parchment he was reading and then tossed it to the elven king.  “Absolutely red-hot stuff,” he snarled.

 

Good start.  It was all in the tone of voice, really.  If Thorin hadn’t snapped but had laughed and said the same thing light-heartedly, then they might have grinned at each other and a conversation might have started.  But, Thranduil had been sarcastic and Thorin had bad-temperedly responded in kind.

 

The elf’s eyes flickered over Thorin’s naked chest as he sat there with only the sheet lying loosely across his lap.  Was he doing it deliberately, he thought angrily?  Exposing himself when he knew his partner couldn’t have him?  He looked so desirable, so muscular and broad, the nipple-ring glinting in the lamp-light, the braceleted tattoos flexing and the coverlet just falling below a wide, deep navel.  The alcohol, rather than tamping down his desire, had merely increased it and his self-control was loosening.

 

And Thorin’s good intentions were fading too.  “Talking of red-hot stuff,” he said bitterly, “perhaps you’d like to entertain me with the details of what you and Ethril got up to the other night.”

 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” replied Thranduil angrily, yanking his robe over his head.  He stood there in only his breeches and Thorin surreptitiously examined him for tell-tale signs.  He thought he could see a fading bite mark on his shoulder and, as the elf turned to throw his clothing in a corner, he was sure there were scratches on his back.

 

“Very passionate, by the looks of things,” the dwarf sneered.  Thranduil glanced down at the bite-mark and touched his shoulder briefly.  He was confident that it had been made by Thorin himself, actually, but he wasn’t going to remind him.  Instead the alcohol inflamed him to cruelty.

 

“So, what did you expect?” he said, with a cool raising of an eyebrow.  “He had waited centuries to have me.  He couldn’t get enough of me, if you must know.”  This was true, of course, but, if he hadn’t been flushed with wine, then the elven king would have been kinder.  If he hadn’t been drunk, he would have turned towards Thorin and said, “Oh, forget Ethril.  He was obviously passionate about me but the only one that I have any passion for is a certain dwarven king.”  And he would have laughed and taken him gently in his arms and kissed him.

 

But Thorin’s provocative remarks just goaded the wrong sort of response from Thranduil.  The dwarven king wanted his kindness, his love, his concern and, most of all, his reassurance.  _Just tell me the right things, Thranduil, the things that will make me happy again, the things that will take away my jealousy,_ he was thinking.

 

Instead, the elf pulled off his breeches and sauntered towards the bed.  He sat on the edge of the mattress and leaned close, his eyes glittering.  “So, you want to know what happened between me and Ethril,” he murmured, running a long finger down the side of the dwarf’s face.  Thorin couldn’t move but sat mesmerised, willing his lover to stop.  Now that he was being offered the opportunity, he realised that he didn’t want to hear.  But Thranduil pressed on.

 

“What do you want me to tell you?” he whispered against Thorin’s lips.  “How we didn’t stop all night?  How we took turns to fuck each other?  How many times he made me come?”  Thorin let out a gasp but Thranduil couldn’t stop now.  The finger drifted lazily downwards to caress the dwarf’s throat. 

 

“Do you want to know what Ethril is especially good at, hmm?”  Thorin could only stare at him as the finger slid lower and began to circle the muscles of his arm.

 

“He has the filthiest tongue this side of the Misty Mountains,” Thranduil purred.  “No-one talks dirty better than Ethril.  Would you like to hear?”  And when the dwarf didn’t respond, he leant forward anyway and began to whisper in his ear.  Thorin stiffened and, as the finger began to play with a nipple and he listened to that breathy voice whispering such disgusting things, he felt he couldn’t breathe.  Thranduil’s hand disappeared beneath the sheet and he gave a curt laugh.  “Even second-hand, it’s surprisingly effective,” he said nastily and his hand grasped Thorin’s swollen cock.

 

“No more,” choked the dwarf.

 

But the elven king was not to be thwarted now.  “Oh, I think there’s time for plenty more,” he muttered tightly, brushing his lips across those of his partner.  “I haven’t even begun yet.”

 

“Are you drunk?” Thorin suddenly asked, smelling the wine on his breath.

 

“I don’t have to be drunk to do this,” he replied, pressing his mouth hard against the dwarf’s and massaging his cock.

 

Thorin groaned and gave himself up to the sea of sensation.  It seemed he had done without for so long and he soon came.  It was a strange sensation as the violence of his orgasm mixed with a stabbing pain in his thigh; and, for a moment, he was concerned that he had done the wound some damage.  But, when the pain began to fade, he relaxed back on the pillow.

 

Unfortunately, Thranduil wasn’t finished with his dwarven king.  He smeared the cum upon his own cock and, climbing on top of Thorin, thrust into him.  The dwarf let out a cry, not so much from the forced entry as from the warning throb in his leg.  But, Thranduil ignored him and, whilst Thorin gritted his teeth, he took his fill of him.  He finally collapsed upon the broad chest and fell asleep whilst the dwarf lay awake trying to ride the pain.

 

When Thranduil awoke an hour later, he had sobered up.  Thorin was moaning beneath him and he remembered what he had done.  He stroked his lover’s hair tenderly and began to apologise but then he saw that his half-open eyes were glazed and were staring blankly at him.

 

“Thorin?” he asked anxiously, but when there was no response, he rolled from the dwarf’s body.  To his horror, he found the sheets stained with blood and the thigh wound gaping open.

 

The guilt he felt at that moment cannot be measured.  He wiped himself down with a discarded shirt, pulled on his breeches and ran to the door where he shouted for a guard to fetch a physician.  Then he dunked the shirt in the bowl on the bedside table and made some attempt to tidy Thorin up.  He felt far too ashamed to let the physician know the precise details of how this all came about.

 

 And then he sat by Thorin’s side, talking gently in his ear and mopping his forehead with the wet shirt.

 

The physician was mad, of course.  “I warned you, my lord,” he snapped.  “Now see what you have done.”

 

Thorin was surfacing as the physician stitched him up once more.  “No, it was all my fault,” he said.  Thranduil was holding his hand and now raised it to kiss his wrist.  “Don’t believe him,” he smiled gently.  “We elves know that all dwarves are liars.  It was my fault, totally mine.”

 

Thorin looked indignant and the physician harrumphed as he put the final stitch in place.  “Well, whoever did what to whom, I must insist that you don’t do it again – not until that wound is healed,” he tutted.

 

“No, sir,” they both chimed together like two naughty schoolboys.

 

When he had gone, they kissed and kissed again.  Thorin reached up to touch Thranduil’s face and to run a hand down a silken strand of hair.  “Let’s move on from here,” he said quietly.  “But we must have patience and wait.”

 

The elf nodded but as he kissed the dwarven king’s throat, a thoughtless hand automatically drifted below the sheet.

 

“No,” laughed Thorin, seizing him by the wrist.  “Be strong.”

 

“How can I be strong when you are my weakness,” sighed the elven king.

 

“Just think of the ticking-off you will get from the physician,” said the dwarf.

 

“Ah, yes,” was the response, as Thranduil swiftly drew his hand up into a more appropriate position.  “That’ll do it – every time.”  And Thorin drew him down into a loving hug upon his breast.

 

.o00o.

 

**So, as you all guessed, Thorin didn’t accept the outcome with Ethril as calmly as it appeared in the last story.  I should always listen to my readers!**

**Ethril and Brangwyn are both introduced in _King of the Marble Halls_.  _The Kings and the Elf Lord_ tells us how Ethril tried to bring an end to the two kings’ relationship and we hear all about how he rescued Thorin in _The Kings and an Old Love_.**

**It was hard going writing this and it took much longer than usual but I shall do my best to write another.**

 

 

 

               

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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